A String That Ties To You
by Pilgrimage
Summary: Cam's suicide doesn't succeed. Maya's visits him in the hospital, where they discuss the aftermath of his attempt. [Camaya]


A/N: Another great prompt I filled in my tumblr. What you need to do is listen to You Could be Happy by Snow Patrol and read about the Red String of Fate along with this prompt. It helps with ruining your feels.

* * *

All she has to do is keep breathing.

The moment he shifts, she tries to hold it in, waiting on baited breath, but she remembers. And his eyes stay closed to her, to everyone, so she exhales stubbornly.

She stays by his bedside, and there is nothing romantic about this. No, not the twinkling lights to the machine he's hooked up to or the constant, bright beeping of the screen monitoring his vitals or the blood fed through tubes, tubes puncturing through him, seeping into his skin.

_The first day is always the hardest_, the nurse tells Maya. Maya manages the most minute movement of movements of her head, and figures the nurse will see it as a nod.

* * *

They bring flowers by the dozen by the second day. She doesn't.

Flowers wilt. _They die_.

She brings herself, running towards the door that's left ajar by Mrs. Saunders. She was the one who phoned her house in the dead of the night, telling Maya's mother that Cam has finally woken up.

Well, first, she yells at her own mother for not waking her the instant the news came to them, and then she brings herself to the hospital.

Maya waits until his family gives them privacy to stare blankly at him. She has nothing to say, though she's been sleeping on nightmares and dozens of scenarios of how she'd react once he was conscious.

"Hey," Cam says with a depleted version of his voice.

He's surrounded by a sea of reds, purples, yellows, pinks, and blues. The flowers are a stark contrast to his pallid skin. He's a ghost sitting in the middle of a vibrant bouquet.

And she must look like she's seen a ghost as she sharply turns on her heel, and sprints out of his room, running until she's doubled over and blocks away from the hospital.

* * *

"Do you still love me?" He asks the one day she does stay in his hospital room, and he's looking warmer in the face, flushed and healthier.

"I never said—" Maya blushes, eyes wide.

He mirrors her expression, looking as though he's blurted out a secret he's been contemplating for a long time. His palms are clammy, she realizes, but she doesn't let go of him.

"Because….because I do. I mean, I love you." He tells her, his voice quiet, firm.

Her chest feels full, tight. It's not an uncomfortable feeling, nor is it a welcome feeling. She closes the distance, kissing him, embracing him.

"I love you too," she whispers over his lips, and pulls away. "I'll always love you, but…that's the problem."

His eyes match the sadness in hers, and she knows he knows what she means.

"I never wanted you to see me this way…All I wanted was for you to remember the good in me, before you saw me, well—" He gestures, his shoulders rise and collapse helplessly.

_Maybe he doesn't get it_, she muses. "No, Cam, I only see the good in you…that's the problem. I can't understand why you'd do this, I can't, and I've tried, okay?_ I tried_." She stops to wipe away the tears that are salty to taste in her mouth now. "I'm so scared…so scared that I'm not helping you by adding all the stupid shit we went through at school. I'm the reason—"

"No." He stops her, squeezing her hand. "_I'm_ the only reason I'm here."

And Cam takes her into his arms again, her head resting in the crook of his neck as she soaks it with her tears. When she comes up for air, her eyes wiped dry and looking determined, he knows it's the end. Though he realizes that he had already started this course of action himself, in the greenhouse with the blade and his thoughts. He only needed to stare at the contents of her purse, sitting on his bedside table to remind him.

Signs are everything to Cam, so he takes this one as is; the Youth Orchestra's emblem on white bond paper peeks out of her purse, goading him on.

"I still need a friend though…" he offers weakly, wishing the last bit of cowardice in him would let him find more courage.

* * *

His last day in the hospital is the day the pediatric psychiatrist deems him fit to leave, and not a harm to himself.

She doesn't treat it like its a victory that's a tremendous feat; he's thankful.

"String of fate," She scoffs, and thumbs through a worn-looking magazine she found in the hospital lobby after rolling her eyes at the tribute article of the well-known myth and real-life account.

"What, you don't believe in things happening for a reason, soulmates?"

She bites her lip because the way his brows are raised, hidden under his fringe indicate he does, though she can't admit that she doesn't. "Err, it's just…we make our own destiny." She can't help it.

He doesn't face her as he continues, choosing to look through his window overlooking a gloomy, overcast scenery outside, "I don't know. Sometimes I feel like if I had been left alone for a second longer, I'd be…"

It's the first time she hears him talk about the morning he almost left in the greenhouse.

"Yeah," she replies lamely, and swallows a lump in her throat.

He turns to look at her, and he flashes her this smile that almost breaks her because she's immediately brought back into a cramped booth with flashing lights. "You want to know a secret?"

She leans in close to humour him.

"I believe in it."

She can't deny the heat that rises in her cheeks, which is most likely showing with their closeness, and she doesn't realize she's holding her breath before she relents, "I believe that, Cheesy."

* * *

The first day of sophomore year is filled with giddy yelps from familiar faces and warm embraces, but she's lukewarm (and that's being generous, she confesses to herself).

It's only when she passes by an old, frayed-at-its-edges-looking poster that the janitors had most likely forgotten to take down over the summer that she has to catch her breath. A flash ebbs from her chest, warming her center and spreading through her.

_Welcome Ice Hound #67, Campbell Saunders_, it reads. His picture is sun-bleached.

That's when she has to remember to take out the token he gave her before he left for home, his _real _home up north. It's really the only thing that makes her come back to life, finally opening her weary eyes and giving her worried friends more than one-syllable answers about her summer.

"What's that?" Tristan is curious, poking at it in her hand.

It's nothing sparkling or particularly astonishing, but Maya smiles fondly at it.

"Red ribbon?" Tristan questions.

"It's just…an inside thing." Maya pockets the note that goes along with it, because she's never one to share too much.

Much later, when she realizes she wants out of the noisy cafeteria to collect her thoughts, when she finds a spot near the greenhouse to have lunch for one, she reads his untidy scrawl like they are her favourite lyrics to a broken record she doesn't mind is on repeat.

_You could be happy, I hope you are_. _Love, Cam._


End file.
